


A Mara-velous Source of Advice

by bubblebangbaby



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Kurusu Akira, Consentacles, Inappropriate Use of Personas, M/M, Other, Pining, Tentacle Sex, akira is a useless bisexual mess, and unsurprisingly good tentacle, how have i not used that tag yet?, mara gives surprisingly good life advice, ryuji is the most clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 07:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15680514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblebangbaby/pseuds/bubblebangbaby
Summary: He’s just always there, that’s all. Always there, making his presence known, loud and bright and kind. Right by his side.He’s his new best friend, and he’s inescapable, and Akira’s not used to that yet, and that’s all.That’s all.…Dear god, is thatevernot all.Akira's raging crush on Ryuji is driving him crazy. Maybe one of his other selves could help with the situation. Someone wise, like...Oh. There's just Mara. Ok, sure. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯





	A Mara-velous Source of Advice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [canticle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/gifts).



> Alternate titles:  
> Isn't it Mara-mantic  
> An Ad-Mara-ble Plan
> 
> Happy birthday, canticle! I hope you enjoy this ridiculous tribute to everyone's favorite dick chariot. :)

There are a lot of things he can’t get used to, it seems. The unnatural, bone-deep exhaustion that hits like a truck whenever he returns from the cognitive world. How goddamn noisy it is in the city at night, even in the back-alley nooks of Yongen-Jaya. The way he can feel his personality shift and warp outside the metaverse depending on which mask he’s taken on and brought to the forefront that day. Futaba and Yusuke’s incomprehensible inside jokes. Going to sleep in his bed and waking up in a velvet-lined prison cell. Ryuji’s attention.

That last one is driving him around the bend most of all.

Ryuji, always there after class; waiting patient as Hachiko, his face lighting up as soon as he catches sight of Akira coming down the hall. Ryuji, always ready and excited to go for a run, or to that stupid little fishing pond, or just to the sweltering Leblanc attic to sit and read manga. It doesn't matter what the plan is; he's always ready to drop everything just to spend time with him. It’s nearly six months into his surreal probation-with-a-side-of-vigilantism, and Akira still can't quite wrap his head around someone genuinely wanting to spend time with him. Not unless they want something.

That’s all, he’s just not used to it. That’s what he keeps telling himself. Ryuji’s a strange one sometimes, all impulse and affection and loyalty. That’s just how he is; he’s not like the taciturn, closed-mouthed mountain folks Akira grew up with. That’s why it’s getting to him like this. That’s why he keeps drifting towards Ryuji when they’re together, why he takes him up on his invitations even when he has more pressing things to do. That’s why he keeps showing up in all his most interesting dreams. He’s just always there, that’s all. Always there, making his presence known, loud and bright and kind. Right by his side.

He’s his new best friend, and he’s inescapable, and Akira’s not used to that yet, and that’s all.

That’s all.

… _Dear_ _g_ _od_ , is that _ever_ not all.

They’re out getting cheapass conveyor belt sushi that Akira’s paying for, because Ryuji mentioned offhand how lonely it’s been at his house since his mom’s shift changed. (Just helping a friend out because he knows how much it sucks to be bored and hungry and lonely in an empty house, that’s all, that’s _all._ ) Ryuji stops dead in the middle of a story about feeding a stray cat for three weeks straight that turned out to be a raccoon, and chews on a piece of scallop with a look on his face like a flight of angels just came down from heaven to suck his dick.

“Akiraaaa… Holy shit Akira, you gotta try this right now! How the hell did this shitty place get scallops this good?” And before Akira can reach for it himself, or even protest, Ryuji’s already shoving the nigiri straight at his face, dripping soy sauce everywhere, and—okay then. Okay, sure. He’s just… feeding Akira sushi off his own fingers, with not a hint of a waver in that big stupid grin, even when Akira surreptitiously licks a drop of shoyu off his fingertip. This is fine. This is normal. Sure.

“Ain’t that the best effin’ thing you ever tasted for…” Ryuji stares at the plate in sudden horror. “2500… yen… oh _shit_.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Akira mumbles around the bite of food as quick as he can. Anything to get that look of terror off Ryuji’s face. Because he’s right. Damn it, he’s right, this is the best sushi he’s ever had, and the quality of the shellfish has nothing to do with it.

This is a _problem._

 **bisexual disaster:** help me

 **lesbiAnn:** if I may quote my beloved shiho, love of my life, light of my world

 **lesbiAnn:** there’s no help for you buddy

 **bisexual disaster:** I deserved that.

 **bisexual disaster:** Ok but listen.

 **bisexual disaster:** He straight-up hand fed me a piece of sushi at dinner tonight

 **lesbiAnn:** what

 **lesbiAnn:** there’s no heterosexual explanation for that

 **bisexual disaster:** THANK YOU

 **bisexual disaster:** but does he realize that? Who knows?!

 **lesbiAnn:** just freaking kiss him already

 **bisexual disaster:** I can’t just do that

 **lesbiAnn:** pussy

 **bisexual disaster:** no no, that’s morgana.

 **lesbiAnn:** pffffffft

Akira groans. If he throws his phone at the wall, will it just bounce, or will it explode all nice and satisfying-like? He wishes he could afford to find out. Ann’s right, and he hates it. Ryuji’s hasn’t been _just_ his new best friend and loyal right-hand man for… Well. For months, now, if he stops lying to himself. Maybe even from the time they first met.

Shit.

He needs to just tell Ryuji he has a crush and let the chips fall where they may. But if he’s wrong? If he’s wrong, and Ryuji gets uncomfortable—or worse, angry—how can he move on from that? And how badly would it fuck up the team dynamics? He can’t afford to be self-indulgent, not with everyone depending on him. Not with the stakes this high. He can wait. He has to wait. Once they’ve put Okumura’s palace behind them, once their reputation is secured, once there’s less pressure on them all, then he’ll think about bringing it up. He can wait that long. He has to.

Something impatient and reckless, something clawing and burning inside him, disagrees. He tosses his phone on the bed and paces the floor, feeling trapped and desperate. The moment plays in his brain on a loop. Ryuji’s huge, oblivious smile. Fingers brushing his lips, the sweet-salty taste of scallop on his tongue. Again and again. He wants to scream. Instead he sits back down and forces himself to be still, to calm down.

Ann’s advice is just too rash. Ryuji’s advice would… well, he can’t exactly ask Ryuji. If Morgana were here, he’d probably tell him to stop fretting over such unnecessary things and get some sleep. Morgana’s usually good at talking him down from doing something stupid. Morgana’s not here. He takes a quick mental stock of the masks in his mind at the moment. Dionysus is there, feeling like a drunken howl, lighting up the parts of his mind that want to do something reckless, to make a scene. Cerberus too, feeling like a jittery impatience, a need to run, a bored and destructive animal impulse. Titania’s regal entitlement wars with Parvati’s unshakable love and patience. And… Oh right. Buried under the layers of the other masks vying for influence over him, there’s Mara. The shameless, mildly nauseating embodiment of lust itself.

No wonder he’s such a fucking mess right now. Well, then. Frustrated, he grabs his phone back up and opens the meta-nav.

“Mementos.” All around him, the room dissolves into blood.

He never quite gets used to the rush of this. The physical sensation of shifting realities is disorienting, but after it… god, what a feeling. He hits the ground and feels the coat swirl around him, the pressure of the mask settling across his face, and it feels _right._ Something in him feels simplified, purified, whittled down to a perfect essence and poised to burn. Instead of the muddled impulses bubbling up from the personas in his mind, stewed into mush and papered over with anxiety, he hears the murmur of their voices clear as his own. Instead of weak limbs and faltering stamina, his body hums with power like a third rail.

He stands and flicks his coattails out behind him, adjusts his gloves. This is what he needed: a little perspective.

Now, to get down to business.

Voices echo in his mind, clamor for his attention, but he ignores them. He heads to the glowing blue door in the corner, only to find it closed. Caroline isn’t standing outside it like she always is. He rattles the bars to find them locked, hisses in frustration and slams his fist against them with a mocking clang. Does the velvet room keep banker’s hours now? What a waste of effort.

He perches on the simulacrum of a turnstile to have a bit of a think. Too late in the evening to burn off steam chasing shadows, and even in the upper levels it’s not worth the risk to go alone. No chance of fusing some calmer personas tonight, either, apparently. Nothing left for it. He has to turn around and go right back. But… There’s laughter in his mind, loud and vulgar and friendly; a rough voice calling him. Huh. He flicks off his mask and speaks the name.

“ _Mara_!” There’s a loud crash-thump-splat noise beside him, and there it is. Mara never makes a graceful appearance when it’s summoned.

“Took ya long enough. What, don’cha wanna tell Mara all yer troubles, lover boy?” A couple of tentacles drape over his shoulders with a wet sound, nearly knocking him off his perch.

“Ah… Not quite what I planned, no.” Mara laughs, long and loud, and slides another couple tentacles around Joker’s waist and under his knees. This really ought to be freaking him out more than it is. But he’s gotten used to Mara and its vulgar bombast and indiscriminate arousal. It’s fun, sometimes, keeping it in his arsenal.

Fun, that is, when he’s not so frustrated he could scream.

“C’mere, kid.” The tentacles wind around him tighter, picking him up off the turnstile entirely so they can settle him right onto Mara’s back like the world’s most phallic armchair. “There ya go. What’s your trouble, then?” Akira snorts and leans back to stare at the eerie, bloody ceiling.

“Don’t you already know? You’re me, and I’m you.” The thing guffaws again and its tentacles tighten around his legs for a second.

“Ya got me there. Lemme guess, the blond kid again?” Akira covers his face and groans. The memory of Ryuji’s smile, the groan of bliss he made as he ate, the brush of his fingertips against his lips, it’s all seared into Akira’s brain, a continuous loop of arousal and embarrassment. He doesn’t even have to say anything out loud, he can just feel that the persona under him _knows._ One of its tentacles runs up and down his thigh and another strokes at his neck. Well, that’s definitely not helping.

“I—I just… Fine. _Fine_ , I like him. I fucking like him, and I’ve tried to ignore it and tried deny it and tried to flirt with other people and tried…” Akira stops to catch his breath—the breath that’s starting to hitch in his throat, starting to get hard to pull in as his eyes burn and his nose clogs up. The appendage that had been tickling his neck wraps around his shoulders instead. It’s… warm. Nice, even.

“Well, we knew that already,” Mara says with a loud guffaw, patting him on the shoulder. “Why don’cha tell him, huh?” Akira snorts.

“You already know. Can’t risk starting more drama in the team. And he’s straight, anyway.” Mara laughs again, its tentacle going back to stroking Akira’s neck. Damn it, it feels nice. Too nice. The image of Ryuji’s fingertips against his lips reforms in his mind again.

“And if he’s not?” Akira shivers.

“Then he’s just—he’s just _torturing_ me. He’s gonna be the death of me, I sw—hey, cut that out!” The tentacle around his leg is groping him through his pants now, completely derailing his self-pity train.

“Pfft. C’mon, buddy, we both know what’s up. You’re not gonna be able to think straight till you get off, so relax.”

“Hey, I’ve never had a straight thought in my lif… ohhhh…” The joke falls flat as Mara starts rubbing him properly through his pants, enough to make him squirm. Damn it, Mara’s right; he really is pent up. A little monster-fondling, and his dick is already starting to sit up and take notice.

“There ya go, what’d I say?” He drags his hands down his face in frustration. It does feel good. When was the last time he’d had the time and privacy to take more than a few stolen minutes in the bathroom to get off? He’s been too cooped up when Morgana’s around, too stressed and distracted during the days when he was missing. Too damned long. No wonder he can’t get his mind off Ryuji.

“ _Fine_ ,” Akira grouses, shucking off his coat and pants as quick as he can. The tentacles spread his legs wide and start to stroke him, slick and warm and strange; nothing like a hand or a mouth, but delicious anyway. He wishes, though. Wishes it was Ryuji’s hand, Ryuji’s mouth. He sighs a little and leans back against his weird, obscene chariot. Mara might be gross, but it makes a surprisingly warm and comfortable seat.

Two of the things slide around his thighs and part his legs gently while the first keeps up its work, wrapping lightly around him to pump him slow and even, fanning the warm coal of pleasure inside him just enough to keep it bright and glowing, but not enough to set him aflame. Not yet. He squirms in Mara’s grasp and lets out a shuddering sigh. It’s teasing him. He hates it. He loves it. He’s aching for more friction, but when he grabs the tendril around his cock himself, tries to squeeze it tighter and thrust up, he gets a slap to the side of his ass and tentacles pinning his arms up over his head.

“Don’t get testy. If ya wanted a quickie, you would’a stayed home with your phone and yer right hand. But you didn’t, did you?” He doesn’t even dignify it with a response, just groans and falls slack against Mara’s back again. Tentacles swat at the sides of his ass and thighs again, hard enough to sting, and he yelps and jerks in their hold. When one of those weird, weak-looking arms reaches back and slides under him to scratch and tease at the base of his spine, he arches and nearly shrieks. It’s his weak spot, and of course his other self knows it. Claws dig into his skin just hard enough to be felt, to send sparks dancing over his nerves and behind his eyes, and set his hips bucking up of their own accord. “Yeah, there ya go… can’t get that from a free camgirl clip, can ya?”

“G-god, please...” His legs are quivering in the tentacles’ grasp now. Finally, _finally_ one slides back between his legs to stroke him again, quick and firm and even, even as his hips stutter, caught between thrusting up into it and back against the hand still stroking and scratching at the base of his spine. He doesn’t want to admit that Mara’s right, but his quivering leg muscles and the sweet ache low in his belly tells him his body is about to betray him, like it or not. “Fff-fuck, gonna co—”

Mara stops moving.

Akira makes a sound somewhere between a gurgle and a wail.

“Heh heh heh, not so fast, kid.” Akira whines and tries to thrust up against that hot, inhuman flesh again, but Mara holds him fast.

“C’mon, I want to get off...” He squirms in the persona’s grasp, but it has him bound tight.

“I betcha do. But you need more'n that. I should know, after all, I’m you.” Akira can’t see its face, but he’s sure it’s smirking. Bastard.

“Fuck you.”

“If you insist!” Almost before he can register what’s happening, Mara’s flipped him over in its hold, putting him on his knees with his hands bound in front of him and his ass in the air.

“Wait, no! Hnnnn… god…” Protests die in his throat as the slick, tapered end of a tentacle starts to slide inside him, hot and thick and just right. His back arches, his cock twitching in empty air as the thing presses in deep, so deep he can practically feel it in in his belly, so deep it sends a shudder down his spine and tears a hungry groan from his lips. It settles inside him for a moment, and he clenches around it, shivering again when more tentacles start to slide up his sides and along his neck. When it pulls back and starts to thrust, slow and sweet, he moans and grinds back against it, tilting his hips so it can fuck him just right.

God, but it’s bliss, sweet and filthy, the aching pleasure of the thick shape moving inside him, the flickering caresses over his neck, his thighs, his nipples, all setting a fire under his skin. His senses are overloaded with sensation, with the slick sounds of the tendril fucking him, with his own desperate cries that he doesn’t have to hold back; not here, not now. And then Mara takes his cock in hand again, stroking him to the rhythm of the tentacle’s thrusts, and his entire body lights up with thrumming pleasure. His head is full of it, candy-fog and silk and sweetness, making it so easy to slip into the scene that always plays when he masturbates: a vision of strong arms holding him up, bright blond hair trembling in the corner of his eye, an eager voice in his ear, telling him how good he feels.

“Haaa… harder… God, please harder, harder…” he manages to pant out, squirming against the tentacles holding him in place. The slow, deep thrusts are so good but still _not enough_. He’s craving the fantasy he’s let play out in his head again and again, Ryuji on top of him, inside of him, losing control of himself and slamming hard into him again and again. Mara obliges him, fucking him faster, harder, perfectly in time with the vision in his mind’s eye, until he’s collapsed against its back, eyes screwed shut, sobbing out Ryuji’s name in delirious ecstasy. The hand working at his cock speeds up, tightens it grip, and he can practically hear Ryuji’s breath in his ear, his voice crying out that he’s coming he’s coming he lov—

He comes so hard it’s blinding, so hard he feels the peak of it pulsing through his whole body in time with the tentacle pounding into him and his own cum splattering across Mara’s green skin. It keeps going, keeps milking him for every last drop until the last wave of pleasure retreats and he starts to shudder with stinging overstimulation instead. He feels Mara ease out of him and more tentacles gently pick him up and lower him onto the floor, right beside his discarded clothes. A sudden wave of drowsiness slaps him in the face. He scrubs a hand through his hair and yawns like he’s trying to dislocate his jaw.

“There. Now ain’t that better?” Mara’s giant dick-face towers over him, leering. The persona looks so damn _proud_ of itself, Akira can’t even bring himself to sass it. He rubs the feeling back into his wrists, sighing.

“Yeah… Yeah, you got me. I feel better.” And it’s true. The tension under his skin’s gone, his brain isn’t replaying the hint of Ryuji’s fingertip against his tongue over and over any more. He feels… sated. Relaxed and sleepy and a little sore, his mind clouded with sweet post-orgasmic bliss.

“Feel better enough ta talk to that boy of yours proper-like this time?” Akira groans into his hands. Does he? If he doesn’t, he’s just going to stay distracted and suffering. That’s no good for the team either. And Ryuji… They’ve both been through too much together to let this be more than a bump in the road; even if the inevitable rejection stings for awhile. It’s time to put it to rest.

“…Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got to.”

“Attaboy!” A smallish tentacle swats his shoulder, nearly toppling him over. Grumbling, Akira picks up his mask again.

“All right, all right. Time to go.” Mara doesn’t have eyes, but as it dissolves back into his mask, Akira could swear he saw it wink. He doesn’t bother getting dressed again before he steps back out of mementos. Cold, garish lights and grimy tile walls burst into bloody swirls of unreality behind his eyes, then vanish.

He’s back in his room again, clean and dressed and _exhausted._ He kills the light and collapses into bed, phone in hand. Just one last thing to do.

 **useless bisexual:** Hey, you up?

 **world’s fastest thirst trap:** yeah man, what’s up?

 **useless bisexual:** want to hang out tomorrow? I’ve got the next disc of x-folders

 **world’s fastest thirst trap:** of course dude!!! i’ve always got time for you :)

 **useless bisexual:** Cool, see you after class

 **useless bisexual:** :)

One little smiley should not make his heart do flips like this. Should it? Something warm and soft blooms in his chest, and he smiles in the darkness. Maybe… maybe there’s just a chance that this will go _much_ better than he’s been expecting.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler alert: it goes well. 
> 
> I think Akira's the kind of dude who updates his friend's display names in his phone depending on how petty he's feeling at any given moment. Also, it was funny. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Yell at me on [tumblr](bubblebangbaby.tumblr.com)!


End file.
